


Fairytale Ending

by FujinoLover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujinoLover/pseuds/FujinoLover
Summary: No family politic. No overcooked meat, as long as Root was the one doing the cooking. They did enjoy monogamy and children.





	Fairytale Ending

Shaw had the perfect life.

A lazy smile curled up her lips even before she opened her eyes and started the day. Tiny feet padded down the hall and into the bedroom. She felt the bed dipped. On the next moment, the breath was knocked out of her. Once, then twice. A chorused yell of _māmān_ traveled through the house. Despite the smile, she groaned. She opened her eyes just in time to see Root poking her head through the doorway.

“Use your inside voice, Harry,” Root said, eyeing the boy who was straddling Shaw’s hips and then at his twin brother, who sat a little higher on her abdomen. “And no bouncing on the bed, John.”

“No bouncing...on... _me_!”

Shaw grasped John’s sides and lifted him as she sat up. The sudden movement caused Harry to roll off and lay over her thighs. John shrieked, trying to wiggle himself free. Harry recovered and came to rescue his trapped brother. He leaped forward, hitting Shaw on the chest with his whole weight. They ended up in a heap of tangled limbs and childish giggles and one bruised adult.

Root sighed, rolling her eyes as she shook her head—a habit she had picked up from Shaw. The boys were at the age where they had so much energy to spend. They ran and climbed and kicked around and Shaw had encouraged the behavior. Their little wrestling session was endearing to watch because for once Shaw could be the taller one, but it wasn’t so funny now.

Root sat on the edge of the bed, picking the boys one by one and setting them back on their feet. With pats on their diaper-swollen bums, they took down running down the hall again. Their laughter filled the house with warmth.

“Hey, sweetie.” Root threaded her fingers in Shaw’s messy hair to tame it down, but to no avail. “How was the number?”

“Not dead.”

The Machine beeped. Shaw groaned, reaching to the back of her left ear. The suture had been taken off the day before, but it still itched like hell. She was tempted to scratch it off, if not for Root looping a hand around her wrist and pulling it away.

“Is it still bothering you?”

Root rubbed the back of Shaw’s ear with the pads of her fingers. She did so without upsetting the healing surgery wound. She smiled when Shaw hummed and leaned to the touch. Shaw acted like a cat sometimes, it was too adorable and Root couldn’t help but sneak a peck on the side of her head.

The close proximity and affectionate gesture no longer made Shaw felt like she was suffocating. Instead, she wrapped an arm around Root’s shoulders and pulled her closer so she could bury her face on the crook of her neck. She nuzzled Root with her nose, feeling her body shook with little laugh because her eyelashes tickled her. She missed this. Root’s familiar weight above her, the scent of the odd apple-coconut shampoo she used, and the way her soft curls caressed her cheeks.

Their little moment lasted only until the boys came back. Harry had jumped and latched himself on Root’s back like a monkey, pressing her down to Shaw and buried her deeper into the mattress. Not wanting to be left out, John crawled up to Root’s lap as she straightened up. They needed to ease up the roughhousing, because they both ended up with more bruises from playing with the boys than from dealing with the numbers.

Shaw watched Root keep an arm around John so he wouldn’t fall backward and hold on Harry’s arms around her neck. It was all instinctual. It was a scene Shaw had seen many times before and she frowned.

“I thought you wanted a girl.”

It was a first. Shaw had blurted out the words before she could stop herself. Root stared back at her with an unreadable expression and she looked away.

“Maybe next time.”

Silence followed, but not for long. After being ignored earlier, The Machine contacted Root this time. She listened to whatever She was saying with rapt, eyes glazed as usual. “I understand.” She was smiling again when she turned to face the twins. They had matching expectant grins on their faces. “What do you boys think about having picnic in the park?”

Harry clapped his hands while John bobbed his head so fast that Root was worried he was going to hurt himself. Harry then let go of Root and tried to fit himself on her lap beside his brother. She accommodated to him even as she grasped on John’s chin to stop him from nodding his head off.

From her position sitting on the bed just inches away from them, Shaw smiled. It was everything in the 0.04% of The Machine’s prediction of marriage/procreation in Root’s future. They had beaten the odds. Shaw liked her perfect life, it was surreal.

 

* * *

 

After everything that happened, they decided to move out from New York. It held too many painful memories, too many people they had lost. Root pitched in that if they were going to start over, it was better at a place that already held a happy memory for them. Miami was where they had their first date and so it was their best choice.

It didn’t lack of numbers for sure, just more on the relevant flavor. The only unfavorable aspect of living in a warm state was that Root couldn’t wear her leather jackets as much as she loved to. Although it also meant seeing Shaw lounging around in tank top and shorts, or when Root was lucky and the temperature was too high, a black bikini that never stayed on for too long.

The idea of having kids popped up after months of settling in. It was The Machine’s. She feared her Analog Interface and Primary Asset expiring, which was such a sweet thing to say, in Shaw’s opinion, because it made her feel as special as canned fruits. Despite Shaw’s dripping sarcasm towards the topic, Root would do anything her God asked her to, even when it meant she had to commit herself to take care of crying infant.

Shaw, whose faith wasn’t so blind, took a while to warm up to the suggestion—a year long while that was filled with Root and The Machine dropping off hints. She was content on letting it go for another year, or maybe two, since she couldn’t see herself rearing a child from scratch. It was until one day she came back only to find a bare apartment, saved for a plate of lasagna with a scrap of paper containing an address on the kitchen counter.

It had led her to a three-bedroom house in a nice neighborhood— _their_ house, as Root informed her when she let her in. It came with a strip of their own private beach as backyard. The garage housed a SUV, a red two-door sport car, and a black motorcycle. It also came with more permanent cover identities. Shaw worked on a private security company, another branch of Thornhill, Root wrote children’s books, and they had a legitimate marriage certificate issued by the State of Florida. They had everything they needed to settle down and raise mini monsters of their own.

The Machine was so done with dropping hints and started smacking it on Shaw’s face. When she checked on the room next to the master bedroom, a nursery with bright yellow walls greeted her. Root had shrugged with a too-innocent smile when Shaw glared at her. In the end, after a full day of crib and baby clothes and diapers delivered to the house, Shaw caved in.

It was clear since the beginning that neither of them was willing to be benched for nine months and waddled around like a bloated penguin, so The Machine hooked them up with a surrogate. Between the hormone treatment, mood swings, and dealing with numbers, everything moved quite fast.

Shaw didn’t want to know why or how The Machine had Reese and Finch’s samples saved up in some shady company named Brightborn in Canada (she suspected it had something to do with Her so-called contingency plan to clone them somehow). She only cared that it worked and Root and she ended up with a bunch of fertilized embryos. The procedure required two to be implanted at once, as to increase the chance of the pregnancy to take, so they each had one of their own. Both took, much to their surprise and The Machine’s delight. It wasn’t clear who the father was, but within nine months, they had little Shaw and little Root on their arms.

Their first born was named after Finch and the second one after Reese. They didn’t think much about it, weren’t bothered enough to do paternity test. Although as the boys grew, it became obvious on its own. In a family of brunettes, little Harry stood out with his straight, blond hair. While it took Root awhile to assure him that his hair would darken as he grew up, like hers did, she couldn’t change the fact that his pretty smile reminded her of Reese’s. However, little John with his thick, messy curls and dark brown eyes was just a perfect copy of Shaw.

Nature could only go so far before nurture took over. Root saw the very evidence of nurture as she made her way back to where her family was sitting under the shade of a tree in the park. All three of them had their cheeks bulged. Root tucked the gun on the back of her pants and used the napkin to wipe the cookie crumbs on the corner of Shaw’s lips.

“Dessert before meal?” Neither boy had made a mess like Shaw did, which only further Root’s mirth. “I thought you’re supposed to be the responsible adult here.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “You’re taking too long.” She took a few gulp of water before continuing, “They kept whining for food. What else am I supposed to do? I’ll ditch ‘em if they start cryin’.” She ignored the disapproving face Root gave her. “The number’s dealt with?”

Root sighed. She would never blame Shaw for her lack of feelings, but a little attachment to the boys would help in the long run. “Just needed to work through his anger issue,” she said as she dug out the sandwiches she had packed in the picnic basket and put them on the plastic plates Shaw had set out. “And a little physical therapy.”

When everyone had their share, John started taking apart his sandwich. What one did, the other copied, so Harry was doing the same. They took out the lettuce and the ‘solid ketchup’, offering it to Shaw with puppy dog eyes that she was sure they learned from Root.

Root’s thought of sneaking in GPS trackers in their next immunization, just in case Shaw did ditch them one day, and finding new way for them to eat their vegetables were pushed to the back of her mind when Shaw took the sopping tomato into her mouth, one slice at a time. She nipped at the boys’ fingers, glancing at Root and smirking when she did so. They erupted into a fit of giggles while Root huffed around the next bite of her sandwich.

Shaw conversed with the boys only in Farsi, just like her own mother did with her. Root thought it was nice for the three of them to have something in common. It could be their secret language since she didn’t quite understand Farsi herself, but she was curious because some phrases Shaw said kept coming up. Phrases like _moosh bokhoradet_ and _jeegareto bokhoram_ that had horrified her when The Machine gave literal translation of, because “may a mouse eat you” and “I eat your liver” weren’t supposed to be affectionate. Except that they were, according to Persians. Ever since she voiced her concern, Shaw fake-biting the boys had become an inside joke to tease her.

By the time Root was done eating, the boys had dragged Shaw to the swings and granted her the privilege to push them. Root watched every now and then as she packed their things back. She was surprised to find one and a half cookie left. She had bagged one for each of them, to make sure fairness was something the boys learned since early age. While they did share their food, neither was willing to give up on treats. That left only one person, one certain person who was giving reluctant push to the swings with one hand.

The warmth spreading in Root’s chest turned to chill when all of a sudden, the frown on Shaw’s face turned into a grimace. She missed the next push on John. He didn’t notice. She stepped back to lean on the swings’ support, grasping at her left side.

Root was on her side in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“’m fine.” Shaw hiked up the hem of her shirt and found nothing but a healing stab wound she got from dealing with a recent number. It must have hit some nerve endings because it kept acting up. John jumping on her earlier might also had something to do it. “Just an old scar.”

The worry on Root’s face remained. However, the boys were quick to grab their attention. Root took them out from the swings, but Harry clasped his hand on Shaw’s and John did the same with her other hand. They were bouncing on their feet as they dragged her to the roundabout.

Shaw took an abrupt stop just a feet away from it. She tilted her head to the left and then exchanged a look with Root, who understood what the gesture meant and stepped forward. The boys didn’t seem to mind as they jumped onto the roundabout and held on tight for a ride, even though Root wasn’t so happy about it. They had no one else left so they had to take turn to take care of the number while the other stayed with the twins. It was just the way it was.

Ignoring the pleading look Root gave her, Shaw mouthed an _I’ll make it up to you later_ before she turned on her heel and left.

 

* * *

 

When Shaw returned, it was past midnight and it was inevitable. She had a stinging cut on her cheek, a bruise on her right shoulder from when the number slammed her to a wall in a pathetic attempt to flee, and the pinching pain on her side had become a constant burning sensation. She knew where this was going.

The house was quiet as she made her way down the hall. She checked on the boys first. They were fast asleep on their bed. Harry was curling on his side and John had kicked off his pillow. She left them be. In the master bedroom, Root was still up. She was leaning on the headboard with glasses on and the new book she was supposed to have written lay open on her lap.

“I can’t believe I wrote this kind of story.”

It depicted the adventure of a cat and a dog that went around helping people after they owners abandoned them, while in fact their owners had died in a tragic accident. It was Root’s most loved series so far and yet she hated it the most. She sighed as she took off her glasses and set it along with the book on her nightstand. Shaw chuckled, kicking off her jeans and flinching while she did so.

“Sweetie, are you okay?”

Instead of answering, Shaw stared at her for a moment before nodding to herself. She had made up her mind. She rounded the bed and crashed their lips together. Root’s gasp of surprise turned into a soft moan when Shaw nibbled on her bottom lip. It was another first, but she recovered pretty fast after she got rid of Shaw’s clothes. Her own loose tee was tossed aside and the cotton boyshorts was tugged down her legs. Their thighs were slick when Shaw straddled her. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from cursing aloud as Shaw suckled on a breast and a hand parted her legs.

They used to be loud, but not anymore. Having children required them to be a lot more careful and discreet. No more slamming each other onto any available solid surfaces. No more breaking plates and glasses. No more bite marks. A small whimper escaped Root when Shaw brought her free hand to her neck and squeezed. Having children never stopped Root’s love for breathplay or for Shaw to fulfill it.

No matter how many times they did, Shaw missed this too. Root was writhing under her. Blunt, black-painted nails clawed at her bruised shoulder. Hips rolled up to meet each thrust. Calves encased her waist, heels dug on her ass, and toes curled. The pain made her feel lightheaded, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through. Fingers curled upward and with one last flick of her thumb, Root came apart.

Instead of sucking her fingers clean like she always did, and risking the chance of disappointment with what she would find—or rather _not_ find—she wiped them on the sheet as she rolled to her side of the bed and tugged the cover up. They were still a bit damp when she rested her palm between Root’s breasts to feel the heaving of her chest and the steady thump of her heartbeats.

Shaw missed this the most.

She would give anything to be able to stay there with Root, to live forever in this moment regardless of the pain. Too bad for her, everything had an ending. It was what to come when Root turned to face her and something cold pressed on her chest. She cracked one eye open and saw Root staring back with a look she recognized, one that she didn’t like. She shut her eyes then, pretending she hadn’t seen it just like she pretended the pain on her body wasn’t unbearable.

“It’s been twenty-six hours, Shaw.”

Shaw couldn’t tell if it was Root or The Machine speaking in her ear since they used the same voice. She already knew the answer, but she refused to confirm it.

“You can’t stay here with me. You can’t keep reliving the day forever.”

“I’m benched,” Shaw said. “It’s my time off. Gonna spend it however I like.”

“But you have to move on.”

Shaw snorted a laugh, humorless and mocking. “ _You_ are using her voice.” There was bitterness in her words, but she chuckled. It was one hell of a sick joke. “You like doing this as much as I do.”

“I missed her too.”

A warm hand brushed the hair away from Shaw’s face, tucking the strands behind her ear. The touch felt familiar, yet at the same time it didn’t. The gun's safety was clicked off.

“Sorry, sweetie. You didn’t leave me any choice.”

Then it went off, shooting a bullet straight through Shaw’s heart.

 

* * *

 

Shaw jolted awake with a gasp. There was something on her head, covering her eyes. It reminded her too much of the time she was being Samaritan’s guinea pig and a sense of panic hit her. She clawed it off—or at least she tried to. Pain speared through her one-track mind when she did as much as move her right arm. Dislocated shoulder, she remembered it now.

Something warm and wet lapped her fingertips.

 _Bear_.

Her heart was still racing, but she took a calming breath and relaxed her body. If Bear was there, then everything was alright. She tried again with her left hand. There was a prickling pain, but nothing she couldn’t stand. She felt something different brushed along her forearm and saw the IV port and hose after she took off the VR headset. It led up to a now-empty blood bag she had set on the headboard before she passed out.

Bear whined.

“Sorry, honey.” Shaw rubbed his head. “Didn’t mean to black out on you.”

He took the apology well. Shaw understood the reason when he lay back beside the bed and continued to chew on her boot. It had been over a day, it must have driven him crazy to hole up in a random hotel room. She couldn’t even recall which state—or even which country they were on.

She was aware of the heavy bandages wrapped around her abdomen, though. Stab wound was nasty. She had stitched it back as best as she could. At least it hadn’t bled while she was unconscious. With utter carefulness, she inched back until she sat against the headboard and reached on the nightstand for the half-full vial of morphine she had stolen from a local hospital along with the blood bag. The needle went through the hose, the drug swam straight into her system, and kicked off the pain in matters of minute.

“Next time, don’t make it so perfect.”

“ _I thought it was what you wanted,_ ” The Machine said through the earpiece on Shaw’s left ear.

“I hate kids.”

Shaw turned to her side where the laptop was. She shut it off without warning, unable to even look at the end of the simulation that remained frozen on the screen. She hated to rely on it, but things had gotten to be too bad.

“ _I worry about you, Shaw. You can’t keep reliving the same day._ ”

“Then you better start gettin’ everything right.”

The Machine remained silent and Shaw took it as an affirmation. It was the first time they did the simulation. She still had a lot to learn—not about Samantha Groves from Bishop, Texas or the Root who was Her Analog Interface, but about the Root who was Shaw’s lover. That 0.4% in Her approximation of Root’s personality that She didn’t quite get.

It would have been easier to accomplish if Shaw wasn’t so reluctant to share, but it was private. It was everything Root had talked about whenever they were in their little ASI-free bubble. The Machine had to earn it. After all, She had failed Root and now Shaw was left without her safe place.

It didn’t matter how long it would take Her to learn in order to relive a perfect Root with all her imperfection. Shaw had a lifetime to spend anyway.


End file.
